


Kinktober 2019: Breaking A Horse

by burning_under



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Aphrodisiacs, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Biting, Bondage, Boot Worship, Brainwashing, Branding, Bukkake, Butlers, Chastity Device, Creampie, Crying, Dehumanization, Drugged Sex, Edgeplay, Electricity, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fear, Femdom, Food, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Furry, Gags, Gender Dysphoria, Glory Hole, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Hypnotism, Impact Play, Intercrural Sex, Isolation, Kinktober 2019, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pain, Pet Play, Pony Play, Power Bottom, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Somnophilia, Spitroasting, Stockholm Syndrome, Strap-Ons, Temperature Play, Torture, Trans Male Character, Uniforms, Voyeurism, but not gore!, corrective rape I guess? it's pretty dark, immobilized, primal play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20877854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_under/pseuds/burning_under
Summary: Danby is purchased at an auction by a woman named Cecily. Though he resists his new circumstances at first, his new owner endeavors to break him to her service, teaching him that he is a horse, not a person.





	1. Power difference/Authority; Bondage

**Author's Note:**

> I shuffled around a list of [kinktober prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492990) (and added some of my own where it worked) to suit a narrative arc that I wanted to play with for my horse anthro character, Danby.
> 
> It should go without saying that this contains quite a lot of potentially triggering content. Please be safe and mind the tags.

Danby comes to at the sound of the trailer’s door banging open, and firm steps ringing on the metal ramp. The noise is like a hammer against his brain. He can’t see, and his nose is full of an unpleasant chemical smell. He tries to turn toward the sound, to raise his arm to rub against his eyes.

There is a sharp clink of metal, and resistance. He can’t turn his head, and his hands seem to be bound behind his back. His nostrils flare, and his ears flatten backwards.

Then someone is touching his shoulder, and he shouts in protest.

“Easy, easy,” comes a low, anxious voice. “Come on now.”

_What the fuck, _he tries to say, but his mouth is dry and his tongue is slow, and all that comes out is a wordless, angry grunt.

Then someone is pulling _his whole head _by something fastened around it, behind his ears and under his chin and he’s turning around as they lead him out, down the ramp and over crunchy gravel and then inside again. He becomes aware of his nudity as he walks. The night air is cool and crisp around him, and it should be invigorating. He wants to fight, but his body feels as stupid as his tongue.

He hears the creaking of doors and feels wood beneath his hooves, and then there is a hand on his neck and he bares his teeth at it.

“Hey now,” says the low voice again. “Easy.” And the hand lets go, and then there’s a _click _on one side of him and a _click _on the other, and the noise of velcro peeling apart and a pinching under his chin, and whoever has dragged him here steps away.

The light isn’t stark, but it hurts his eyes after the dark of being blindfolded; it hurts his head after the lull of being drugged. He blinks and stares around, though he’s unable to turn his head, meeting resistance on either side of the …halter?… fastened over his face. He spots a rather round, solid-looking person with a thick canine face framed by dense fluff, looking at him worriedly. This time, his tongue obeys him.

“Where the hell am I? What is this?”

“I see he’s awake.”

A new voice answers, as someone else walks in the door of the … _barn? _… that he has been restrained in. She’s small – a cat with a frame that looks like it was deliberately constructed to look nonthreatening. Narrow shoulders, soft hips, small hands, a disarming smile, contradicting the powerful, sharpened voice.

“Yes, Mistress,” answers the canine.

“Why am I being held here? What’s going on?” Danby demands of the newcomer.

She strides right up to him, something held in her hand. She’s very close, and then there is searing, white-hot pain coursing through him. He bellows.

“Horses don’t talk,” she says matter-of-factly. “And you are my horse. A working animal. I bought you. You’re my property, to do with as I like.”


	2. Electricity; Gags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danby's captor discourages him from trying to speak.

“That’s ridiculous,” Danby answers hotly. “I’m a pers–” and then that horrible, coursing pain charges through him again.

“Not as ridiculous as a talking horse,” she retorts calmly. 

He kicks out at her. It doesn’t connect, but she takes a step back.

“Hobble him, please, Davis.”

The other person approaches, and he tries to kick at them, too, but his body is still slow, and they catch one of his ankles in a sturdy, padded hand. His body pitches beneath him, but he’s caught painfully by the halter. Before he can right himself, his legs are neatly tied together, with just enough distance between them to balance. 

“No!”

He lashes his tail as a last retort, hoping that it’ll at least sting one of his captors, but the feline catches a fistful of it in her hand and _pulls. _

“Bind this as well, Davis.”

Danby feels the long hairs of his tail doubled up and folded on themselves, and then something is being twined around the bone of his tail, folding it into a harmless skein. He shakes his head as much as he’s able, baring his long, flat teeth.

“You can’t do this,” he insists bitterly, pulling at whatever is binding his wrists to each other behind his back. It feels like his hands are in some kind of heavy leather glove.

This time he sees the electric wand in the feline’s hand as she brings it up and forward, touching the thin, metal tip of it firmly to the soft, sensitive skin of his nose. He squeals, his eyes watering in pain.

She steps away as he catches his breath, pacing in front of him.

“I knew you would be difficult,” she muses. “The dealer warned me, but I could not pass up such a fine piece of horseflesh, and I certainly can’t say I don’t welcome the challenge of breaking you to my service.”

“You won’t,” Danby rasps.

She gives him a cold, assessing look, and taps him on the nose with the wand. Pain streaks through his mind. He grunts.

“Davis, bridle him.”

The canine gives him an apprehensive look and grabs a tangle of leather from a hook on the wall. Then there’s a firm grip on his mane and the halter slides off. He tries to rear his head back to bite at them, but the moment he opens his mouth there is metal between his teeth and leather pulling snug behind his ears and over his nose and under his chin, and when he jerks his head to the side, there’s a yank and such a horrible pressure at his lips and in his mouth that he stills immediately.

“Headstrong,” she assesses, “But maybe not completely stupid.”

_Fuck you, _he tries to say, but around the bit in his mouth it’s just garbling, which turns to a roar of fury and agony as she shocks him again, the current sizzling through the bit and over his tongue.

“_Ffhhhckk–” _Danby tries again, and is swiftly met with the wand. He roars again around the pain sparking in his mouth, but garbles, “_–youhhh” _before another shock is administered. This time the feline holds the wand to his flesh, pressing it into his nose, and it feels like his nose and tongue are being stabbed with needles of fire. The sound that emerges this time is not a powerful roar or enraged bellow, but a terrified, pitiful squeal.

“Only a completely stupid beast would keep trying to speak when he knows that beasts don't talk, and that all he'll get for the effort is another shock, don’t you think, Davis?”

“Yes, mistress.”

Danby is silent.


	3. Sensory Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danby's captors leave him alone.

“Blindfold him, and block his ears,” commands the sharp voice of the feline.

Davis approaches, and wraps an opaque fabric hood over Danby’s eyes and under his jaw, pulling it snug. Then there’s the awful sensation of something being pushed into the cups of his ears. He twitches. His lips and tongue still tingle with pain around the bit.

He can hear her voice muffled, as if underwater, and then he is tugged forward by the bit in his mouth, and almost trips in the hobbling rope. He takes small, careful steps, not wanting to end up on the ground, his mind reeling. His hooves land in something soft and dry and loose, and then he feels more than hears the slam of a door. He turns, stepping back in the direction he came from, but his nose meets metal bars – a stall. He considers trying to shout, but the thought that the feline might be in here with that horrible wand stops him. Instead, he turns to feel out the space he’s been locked into. With his hands bound, this is quite a project, but he’s able to perceive a small, rectangular space, with a bucket of water hung from a bracket in one corner, and wood shavings on the floor, locked from the outside. He’s alone.

He waits, quiet, trying to perceive if his captors have left, before trying to test his bonds again. Rubbing his arms against the wall of the stall informs him that his hands are indeed locked into gloves that are interconnected somehow, and they’re too sturdy for him to wear through. There’s nothing on the floor for him to wear the hobbling rope against. The bridle, too, is fastened snugly, and scraping his face against the metal bars of the stall door does nothing but irritate his mouth by jostling the bit. The blindfold doesn’t even slip – it just wrinkles a bit on one side, irritatingly, and no more.

Finally, he lowers himself cautiously to the floor, propping himself up against the wall, and sleeps.

He wakes up still bound and blindfolded and apparently alone. He stands awkwardly, with a great deal of awkward wriggling. The lack of sound begins to fray his nerves quickly - only feeling the vibration in his own skull as he sloppily drinks water out of the buckets, or as he rubs his face against the bars of the door again. He’s hungry, but apart from that, has no sense of how much time has passed. He wonders when they’ll come back to torment him further.

They don’t.

He pisses uncomfortably in the corner of the stall, trying to be fastidious. He paces back and forth, but that becomes quickly tiresome, as he can only take small steps. The binding of his tail itches. His hands sweat. The corners of his mouth feel prickly, so he drinks more water. 

Eventually, all he can do is stand and think. 

So he’s been captured by some evil eccentric who apparently thinks she’s going to enslave him. Why would she leave him here to rot? Surely it can’t be cheap, to buy people. What are they going to do to him? How long has it been? These thoughts circle in his head, chasing each other, leaving little room for anything else.

He’s hungry, and drinks water to fill his belly. Then he has to piss more. Then he has to live with being in a small stall with his own piss. He kicks the door with his hoof. Then he keeps kicking it, because it’s something he can feel. If he kicks hard enough, he can kind of hear it, dulled-down as it may be. 

Eventually he sleeps again. Gets up, drinks more water, pisses, kicks the door, trying to quell the increasing panic that hunger instills in his belly. 

Kicks the door. Kicks and kicks and kicks.

Drinks more water. Pisses, less careful about where, this time.

Sleeps.

Wriggles upright, painfully and shakily. 

Discovers the water bucket has been refreshed, and woozily congratulates himself on not trying to speak. Who knows when they’re in here with him. They’ve come in at some point, surely. And if they were here while he talked, they would shock him again.

He drinks more water.

He shakes.

If they were in here at some point, then they must want something from him. Which means this can't be forever.

After some time – a few sleeps, though he’s not sure what information that even gives him – the offensive smell of his own piss in the sawdust no longer matters. Getting to his feet becomes a challenge that takes a great deal of his time. He starts shaking after kicking the door just a few times, and has to settle himself back down.

Another two sleeps, and he can’t get up – the effort of rocking his body up to his feet without the aid of his hands is too much, his muscles too sore from disuse. He tries, because he wants the water bucket, but it’s fruitless.

He wonders why someone would buy a person just to lock them up to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, now I have the right number of posts for the number of days. I'll try to keep it that way! 
> 
> If you enjoy this free nasty content, I'd love to hear what you think. <3


	4. Shower/Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis cleans Danby up.

“Come on, boy, let’s get you up.” The voice of the stout canine swims into his consciousness, and he can _hear _it.He flickers his ears, and they’re free, and he can hear his own groan as he tries to move. He kicks his legs weakly and finds they’re no longer bound. He wiggles his fingers, and finds that while his hands are still tied behind his back, they’re no longer encased by the heavy leather mitts.He lets Davis help him to his feet. His legs shake, but he stumbles to the water bucket and drinks deeply.

“There you go,” Davis soothes. “Come on now, let’s get you out of this mucky box.” There’s a tug, and Danby feels the absence of pinching pressure in his mouth – just the dull pressure of the halter around his face. He follows quietly, hooves stepping from moist sawdust to hard wood floor, then onto soft grass. He breathes deeply, almost forgetting the gnawing hunger in his belly at the sensation of sun on his skin. He can hear the rustle of leaves in a breeze and the intermittent sounds of birds, and he supposes by that and the sweet smell of _meadow _that wherever he is, it’s in the countryside. 

Davis stops, and Danby can hear the soft _click _that he remembers from his first night here. Sure enough, when he gives his head an experimental nod, there is a soft jerk at his chin. Tethered again. He gives a shaky sigh. When he swishes his tail in irritation, though, he finds it’s no longer bound into that useless fold, though it feels disgusting and crusty against his legs.

There is a loud, rusty squeak, and then the sound of water slopping onto the grass. 

“All right, big boy,” says Davis. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Danby gasps and struggles when the water hits his body. It’s very cold, sloshing over his skin, running in sheets down his back and belly. He sputters and shivers as Davis hoses him down, but part of him can tell he needed it. The smell of stale urine and cedar dissipates, and as cold as it is, the water is a relief as it runs over his ass and genitals. 

Then the pressure of the water is gone, and the spigot squeaks again. Davis’ steps through the grass are mushy this time, and then there are thick hands massaging a minty, green-smelling soap into his coat. He lets himself lean into the touch, still relieved at not being left for dead after all, allowing the brusque but gentle massage. He startles when the hands sweep up his thighs and over his genitals, wrapping around his cock to soap it up, then running a finger between his lips and over his vulva. Before he can twist to try and kick Davis, the touch is gone, and the canine has stepped away. They hose the lather off of him, roughly towel him dry, and they lead Danby back into the barn. Two more metallic _clicks _and Danby knows he’s in the cross-ties again. He braces himself for more torture. 

Instead, there is the unmistakable, comforting rub of a curry-comb against his coat, making satisfying little circles up and down his back, across his chest and shoulders, over his hips and ass and thighs. He holds still, confused. Then the curry-comb is gone, and a bristle brush takes its place, smoothing the hairs of his coat into line. Despite himself, Danby begins to relax into the soothing touch. It’s not even unpleasant when Davis tugs a comb gently through his tail, then his mane, braiding the hair into little buttons along the crest of his neck and into a short, folded braid at his tail.

Finally, Davis peels off the blindfold, and Danby blinks at them.

“Hey there, big boy,” says the fluffy canine. Their buttoned shirt is slightly grimy, Danby’s grey hairs dotting its sleeves. Their gaze and voice are kind, and Danby wonders how they are affiliated with his sharp-voiced captor. Maybe they’re captive to her as well. Maybe they can escape together. He risks it.

“Hey,” he answers quietly. 

His hopes are dashed as the canine flicks his nose with a blunt-clawed finger. “Silly,” they say. “Making foolish sounds like that. Best not let the mistress catch you doing that. Now, let’s get your face cleaned up.”

Danby stands quiet and despondent as Davis wipes his face with a soft sponge, cleaning around his eyes, nostrils, and mouth, then under his chin and jaw. He tries to ignore how pleasant it is when Davis scratches the base of his cheek. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to scratch his face with his own hands again.

He tries to keep Davis in his line of sight as the groom – for surely that is what they are – bends down. “Steady, now,” they say, and there is a hand picking up one of his hooves. He grits his teeth and stands shakily on one leg while they brush debris out from under and around his hoof, swiping the surface of it lightly before putting it down on the floor and moving to pick up the other. 

Finally, after a short time of leaving Danby alone in the cross-ties, they fit the heavy leather mitts back over his hands, and swaps the now-grimy halter for a red, tasselled one that Danby can't help but think of as pretty. It's even soft against his face.

When Davis is done, they step back, thumbs hooked into their suspenders, and admire their handiwork. By their satisfied smile, Danby assumes he must look quite good, though he’s deeply worried about _why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this self-indulgent little fic! If you like it, I'd love to know what you think - please feel welcome to comment. <3
> 
> If there's any confusion about my description of Danby's junk: I imagine him as trans male, with a big clit that he refers to as his cock. Go with me: if the stereotype is that horse anthros have big dongs, then FTM horses' clits must be pretty hefty as well.


	5. Food Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danby's new owner lets him have a snack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be aware that the sexual non-con elements begin in this chapter. Be safe - if rape/noncon are potentially triggering topics for you, I'd advise that you not continue reading.

Danby doesn’t need to wonder for long. The feline woman strides into the barn a short while later, examining Danby carefully from the moment she steps through the door. Danby flares his nostrils at her outfit – a short jacket, form-fitting pants, and tall boots, emulating an equestrian’s silhouette. Offensive. 

She sweeps him up and down with her eyes, and gives Davis a curt nod.

“Has he been behaving?”

“Much better, Mistress,” affirms the canine.

“Good,” she says. “Shame that we had to go to such lengths – he’ll need some time to fill out again. But results are worth it, are they not?”

“Yes’m, sure seems they are.”

“Well then,” she says. “Let’s see what he thinks of this.” She reaches into a sack on a shelf, and draws forth a large, perfect-looking carrot. Danby’s mouth waters and his stomach groans.

“Take him out of the ties and hold him by his lead, Davis,” she directs. “I have the wand at hand in case he tries anything.”

Davis complies, releasing the cross-ties from the halter and snapping the lead rope to its bottom ring. 

“Now,” says the feline, holding the carrot just out of reach. “Bow for me.”

Danby seethes, but sees no option. She’s made it clear that she can shock him at any time, and he needs food. He bows stiffly at the waist.

“Oh, very _good!” _she exclaims, and holds the carrot forth on her flat palm, just under Danby’s nose. He eyes her warily, then takes the carrot from her palm, lips brushing the soft pad of her hand. The vegetable crunches in his teeth, sweetness snapping onto his tongue. He closes his eyes gratefully, chewing and swallowing. 

She produces another. “Neigh.”

He narrows his eyes at her. She stares back. He neighs, humiliated. She gives him the carrot, and he accepts it, savoring it. 

When he finishes that one, she has an apple in her hand.

He eyes her warily. She reaches for him, and he flattens his ears.

“Come now,” she says sternly. “None of that.”

He snorts, twitching when her hand lands on his nose. She strokes the soft, sensitive skin there, and he shudders. 

“There, now, not so bad, hm?” She strokes his face, his neck, and he _lets _her, hating himself for his helplessness. She offers him the apple on her palm, and he accepts it, chomping it down. He hates that he’s grateful.

When he looks up at her again, she’s holding a handful of molasses cookies. His mouth waters. He wants that solid weight in his belly more than anything.

“Now, if he wants these, he’ll be very good and hold still,” she comments to Davis, and sets them down.

She runs her hands over his face again, confident and dehumanizing. She strokes his neck possessively, then his shoulders and back. When her hand slides over his ass and around to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, it feels like his heart has been swapped with a heavy, jagged stone. Then she’s touching his cock, squeezing it lightly in one hand as the other dips below, a finger creeping between his lips and inside him. He blows air out through his nose, but manages not to move, heart tightening. He can’t bear to look at her, staring at the stable floor as she swirls a finger in him, his cock hardening in her hand despite himself. His pulse thunders in his ears.

Finally, she lets go.

“Good boy,” she says, voice low and sharp. He chances a glance up at her and flinches at the triumphant smile on her face. She holds out one of the molasses cookies on the palm of her hand for him. He reaches forward for it, picking it up gently between his lips, and something inside him breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man I just had the opportunity to talk with some friends today about forced transfomation kink, and like... this whole thing is basically that and I'm having so much fun.
> 
> don't be shy if you feel like commenting! <3


	6. Aggressive Dominance; Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily becomes angry when Danby resists her.

Days pass. His captors lock Danby in his stall. A bucket for food joins the water bucket hanging from the wall by the door, and it’s filled daily with a bland but not unpleasant oaty bran. Danby sleeps on the floor in the sawdust and does his business in one corner. Davis cleans the stall out daily, and brings Danby out to be groomed. They disconnect the heavy mitts from each other for the night, though they leave them locked over Danby’s hands, and reconnect them first thing in the morning. 

Once or twice, Danby bolts for the door of the stall when Davis comes in, but they’re ready with the awful wand and shock him, then soothe him gently, patronizingly. “Now why on earth would you want to do a thing like that,” they murmur to him, scratching along the crest of his mane. On the days that he stands docile in his stall as they go in and out, they offer him apples and carrots, and once, a peppermint, and he accepts them quietly and hates himself.

After a few days, the feline slips into his stall in the middle of the day. He shies away from her warily. She holds one of her hands close to her pocket, and he’s sure that the wand hides in there. She has a small bag over her shoulder, and she produces another molasses cookie from it. “Hold still and be good,” she says.

He hears her manipulating some object, flicking his ears to try to parse what she’s doing. Perhaps some other ridiculous bit of bondage equipment – it sounds like more leather and buckles.

Then she steps close in behind him, and her hand is pushing his tail up, and there’s something large and hard bumping between his legs. He whirls, almost losing his balance, lowering his head and striking toward her, bellowing, _“NO!” _in her face. 

Her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow cruelly, and the wand skitters across his front, leaving burning pain in a trail over his chest. He backs away, baring his teeth furiously at her. Her gaze hardens, and she darts forward with the wand, slamming it against his nose and grabbing the halter at the same time. He shrieks as she drags him out of the stall and hitches him to the cross-ties, holding the wand to his nose all the while. By the time she lets go, his eyes are watering and there is a painful tingle spreading out into his face.

“You do _not,” _she spits, “_ever _threaten me.”

She stares at him, brandishing the wand, as if daring him to speak again. 

At that moment, Davis comes huffing into the barn. “Mistress Cecily, I heard – oh.” 

“Thank you, Davis, I can handle him. _Hopefully _he knows better than to try to speak again, but I still need to teach him his lesson for threatening me.”

“Ah, Yes. Yes, of course. Yes’m. Glad you’re not harmed, Mistress.” Davis stammers. “I’ll leave you to it, shall I.”

“Bind his hands in front of him, first, would you? And then, yes please.”

Davis scuttles to obey, snapping a clip into the rings on the mitts in front of Danby so quickly that he doesn’t even have time to decide whether to try and snap at them with his teeth. Then the groom is gone.

Danby stares at Cecily furiously. She stares him down, a mask of anger on her face.

“You will _never _pull a stunt like that again,” she snaps. “I’m going to show you what happens if you ever behave like that again.”

He snorts at her, still furious at what she’d attempted to do.

She reaches into a cabinet, and pulls from it a simple riding crop and a long, flexible rod in her hand with a leather-wrapped handle and a flicker of string dangling from the end – a dressage whip. He roars his outrage.

She slaps him hard across the face with the crop – once, twice – then across his chest, leaving a stinging trail. He glares, face and chest smarting.

She disappears behind him again, and there’s a sharp _whoosh, _and his shoulder explodes in sharp pain. He screams. It’s worse than the wand; heavier. She slams it across his shoulders again, and he squeals in fury and pain. On the third strike he can feel his skin break.

She brings the whip down over his shoulders, ass, and thighs, again and again, until his whole body is flinching in dread at the sound of it cutting through the air and he’s screamed himself hoarse. When he can only manage grunts of pain and there is blood trickling through his coat down his back and legs, she stands in front of him, grabbing his halter and yanking his head down to stare in his eyes.

“Now. In the future, you will behave, or we’ll repeat that experience. Understand?”


	7. Strap-ons; Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily tries again to fuck Danby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this whole fic is quite dark, but things definitely get a bit darker over the next couple chapters.   
Cecily is not a good person!

He dreads Cecily’s next attempt at fucking him, but she doesn’t return to the barn for several days. Davis comes in and cleans his wounds, fretting over him, petting him gently, and feeding him peppermints. They leave his hands bound in front, to allow his back to heal more comfortably. 

The scabs on Danby’s back are itching and flaking off when Cecily returns, and from the moment he hears the ringing click of her boots on the stable floor, he starts shivering in fear. He’d spent days imagining how he could express his fury and disgust to her, but now that she’s back, his heart quails. 

She steps up to the door of his stall. 

“Now, you big brute,” she says, her voice light and pleasant. “If you behave for me today, I’ve brought you a whole bag of treats. And I’ll permit Davis to take you outside for some exercise. It should go without saying that if you misbehave, we’ll have to punish you again. I don’t like having to spell this out for you, but I trust there’s a good horse in there somewhere and I’m determined to find him.”

His breath comes quick and shallow as she steps into the stall. She walks up close, and he tosses his head fearfully. She grabs his halter and strokes his nose and neck. He trembles.

“Now, nothing to be scared of,” she croons, but it falls short of soothing when he knows what she must be trying to do again. She runs her hands over him in long, firm strokes. He tries to force himself to stop fidgeting, and she offers him an apple slice. “That’s for being good so far.”

The calm strokes of her hands bring her to his cock again. He startles when she touches it, feeling around its sensitive length, the underside where the flesh parts into lips around his opening. He quivers as she comes near his entrance, but she retreats, the soft pad of her hand teasing around the head of his cock. He gasps and shivers as she strokes it with one hand, rubbing his back with the other. She presses into his lower back, and he makes a soft, helpless sound – she’s found the spot that makes him want to open up, bend over, get fucked. He groans with unwilling arousal and dread, feeling his cock growing hard in her hand.

“There we go,” she murmurs, and offers him another apple slice. He closes his eyes, feeling the prickle of tears as he accepts it from her hand.

She lets go of him, and again there’s that clink and creak of leather and buckles. A strap-on, he now understands, and he shakes when he feels her stepping forward again. She kneads his lower back some more and grabs his cock again; he leans forward and tilts his hips back, feeling his tail raise against his own will. He shakes, his ears pinning back miserably when the head of her cock teases against his opening.

He shrieks when she begins working it into him, jolting forward in fear, crying openly. She steps back, and returns her attention to rubbing his back. He can feel himself getting wet as she does, and cries harder. When she tries again, he shudders and screams hopelessly – not daring to resist, but not able to contain the reaction of sheer dread at being fucked like the mare he is not.

She hums in displeasure, stepping back again. “I see this is not going to work in this way,” she says. 

He quakes with fear as she reaches for him, but she just strokes his neck. “Shh now, it’s all right,” she soothes. It feels like being calmed by a venomous snake, but he accepts the proffered apple slice, regardless. “I won’t punish you for that. I can tell it’s not your fault.”

He turns his head to stare at her in shock.

She pats his nose. “We’ll just correct that little problem another way, don’t worry.”


	8. Fucking Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of a machine, Cecily endeavors to break Danby of his aversion to getting fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big ol' content warning on this chapter for, basically, corrective rape/rape used to break someone's will.

“August? Yes. I need advice on dealing with a horse who’s averse to being mounted. …No, a male… but – no. No, he’s – yes. That’s right, exactly. Training isn’t going too poorly in other ways, considering how he was when I bought him, but he’s in serious distress about, ah… vaginal penetration. Yes… Oh, you do? And it’s worked on yours? Fantastic. Can I send Davis to pick it up tomorrow?”

Danby listens to Cecily talk on her phone with increasing horror. The realization that there are other people who _know _what his captors are doing – who are probably captors of other people, _themselves, _and that they help each other… his stomach clenches in disgust and dismay.

Early the next day, Davis steps into his stall. “Hey, big boy,” they soothe, stroking his jaw and scratching along it. It feels incredible, their blunt claws making little zig-zags in his coat. “Hey now, I heard you’re a little stressed out. There’s no need for that, but we’re going to help you with that now.”

Danby fidgets, pitching his ears back, and whinnying agitatedly. Whatever “help” they have prepared, he’s sure he doesn’t want it. He’s even more sure when Davis whisks the blindfold over his face, pulling it snug, and he writhes under the canine’s touch.

“Now, now, shh. There’s no need for that, no need at all. Just follow me like a good boy, now. You know I don’t want to use the wand on you.”

He doesn’t want the wand. He lets himself be led from the stall onto the stable floor, nickering agitatedly. To his surprise, Davis doesn’t put him in the cross-ties, but instead guides him up onto some sort of padded bench, on his hands and knees. His heart gallops in his chest as he feels Davis free his hands from each other, then clip them to the bench itself. He squeals in fear as his legs are pulled apart and locked by some sort of padded cuffs into a vulnerable spread. Some piece of heavy padding is slid under his chest, and he rests his weight on it. If not for the fear and dread coursing through him, it wouldn’t be that uncomfortable.

“There you are,” says Davis, and then there is the smell of a fresh apple under his nose. He takes it. “Thank you for being good,” says Davis. 

His heart is back in that tense, stony, jagged place, and he starts shaking when he hears Cecily come in. Davis strokes him comfortingly, but it does nothing.

“This looks great – thank you, Davis,” Cecily says melodiously. “Now, let’s get to work.”

He squeals again when she touches his cock, and then there is a slick fluid in her hand as she lubes it up. He groans unhappily, trying to twitch away from her touch, but she sticks to him like a tick, and slides something around his cock, covering it completely and pulling some kind of strap up around his tail. He shifts and tilts as much as he can, but can’t dislodge it at all. Then he hears a soft “heh,” from Cecily, and the thing is vibrating. He flinches, the fastenings at his wrists and on his legs clacking. 

Before long, his fearful quick breath has become aroused, and he thrusts forward into the sleeve almost against his own will, groaning. His captor makes a pleased sound, and he hates it. Then there’s a weight pressing into his lower back, and he moans with dread at having his body manipulated in this way. He shivers as he feels himself become wet and hungry, and he hates that too.

Suddenly the vibration of the sleeve increases dramatically in strength, and takes on a pulsing rhythm. He orgasms against his will, bellowing, and as his genitals pulse with the climax, something hard thrusts into him. He screams, jumping in his restraints and completely unable to move away. The thing pulls out, and thrusts back in, and he hears a mechanical buzzing and hissing as the penetration takes on a mechanical rhythm. Danby moans and squeals and squirms, all to no avail.

His blindfold is peeled off, and he sees both Cecily and Davis standing in front of him as he’s fucked, screaming and writhing, tears spilling down his cheeks. Cecily frowns. “We’ll need to leave it on until he learns to accept it, I think. May be longer than we expected, and I’d prefer that we keep him supervised during this portion. Will you be able to serve dinner down here today?”

“Yes’m, no trouble,” answers the canine.

The vibration of the sleeve brings Danby to orgasm again while the machine fucks him, and again. After a time, his screams and bellows subside to groans and occasional sobs, then to quiet grunts. Davis and Cecily unfold a small table and eat, glancing at him occasionally. The shadows in the barn lengthen and everything turns gold as the day creeps toward evening. He tires himself out throwing himself against the restraints. His throat feels ragged, and he sweats profusely. 

At some point, when his cock is overwrought and throbbing, the orgasms begin to come from the machine – deep, body-wracking swells of pleasure. He bellows again at the first one, back and neck arching dramatically. Cecily’s eyes light up at the sight of him.

After a few of these, his heart is heavy with defeat. The plunging of the mechanical cock is simply his new reality, and apart from the build of the occasional orgasm, it becomes boring, a steady in-out against a part of him that his captors have taken ownership over. It doesn’t hurt like the wand or the whip. It even sends satisfaction rolling through him at intervals. Perhaps this is all he is now. Wordless, without the use of his hands, waiting for an orgasm and a chance to accept a treat from his mistress’ open palm.

He goes quiet and still. The only signs of the machine and sleeve acting upon him are occasional small thrusts of his hips, accompanied by soft grunts.

“Good,” says his mistress. “Very good.” She stands, and offers him a molasses cookie. He picks it up without any fuss, chews and swallows. He doesn’t look up at her while she strokes his neck affectionately. He grunts quietly as another orgasm takes him.

She steps behind him and turns the machine off. He’s empty for just a moment, and then there is the sensation of something solid and slick being pushed into him; the tug of straps tightening in buckles. Then the sleeve’s vibration dies off as well, and it’s loosened and removed. Danby is still and silent. They bring him water and feed him molasses cookies, and he eats them gratefully, quietly. They both stroke his face and neck. His mistress kisses his nose. “You did so well,” she says. 

Somewhere in the hollow space that his resistance occupied, the praise echoes, and he feels a tiny, traitorous flutter of pride.


	9. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily and Davis give Danby a break.

They let him down from the bench. His thighs shake when he stands, and the feel of the toy strapped into him is distracting as he moves. He winces as he drips around it. 

“Come on now, you good boy,” says Davis softly as they lead him back to his stall. “You’ve earned your rest. And tomorrow, you’ll get to go outside. Won’t that be nice?”

They lock him in the stall and place a couple of apples into his food bucket. Danby eats one of them, savoring the juice on his tongue, but exhaustion takes him quickly, and he curls up in the soft sawdust on the floor.

His body is sore when he wakes, and pissing around the toy inside him is bizarrely laborious. He eats the other apple and drinks a great deal of water. His ears flicker alertly when he hears the stable door open. It’s Davis, who pets his head and croons praise at him. Danby feels a bizarre new sense of relaxation around the stout groom that he knows shouldn’t be there. Not after what they’ve done to him. Not when there’s something _inside _him, providing constant pressure that he would hate, if only he didn’t feel so tired. But perhaps it’s that he’s weathered the worst these people had to offer and his fear is evaporating. Perhaps it’s that he’s really starting to lose himself. The idea of the latter only sends the vaguest alarm through him, like bells heard from a distance.

Davis clips a long rope to his halter. Very long – there’s a whole coil of it under their arm. They lead him out, out of his stall, out of the stable – into a beautiful, dew-washed morning. After … _how long?_… with barely a breath of fresh air, and only wood and sawdust beneath his hooves, the smell of grass and woods and clinging fog invigorates him. He inhales deeply, holds his head high. The pressure of the toy shifting within him as he steps is distasteful, but the feel of grass brushing against his legs and the breeze skidding gently over his coat is by far the more engaging sensation. He drinks in the golden-green meadow, shining in the morning light, and the tall, dense forest hugging its edge. He flickers his ears to better take in the song of insects in the greenery, and tilts his face to accept the sun’s warmth over its length.

Suddenly, his lead rope is slack, and he gives in to the urge to _run. _He takes off at an energetic trot, knees high, legs carrying him fluidly over the grass. He jumps, kicks in the air, throws himself down on the ground and rolls, then gets back up and races out and out until the line between him and Davis is taut. He makes a great circle around the laughing canine, as far from them as he can get, running until he’s panting and his coat is sweaty. He tumbles to the ground again, staring up at the sky, heart pounding in his chest. He hasn’t felt so _alive _in… so long. Since well before the circumstances that brought him here. Sucking the scent of crushed grass in, panting and blowing and gazing at the tufts of fluffy cloud scattered above, he can almost forget the halter, the ridiculous mitts rendering his hands almost totally useless, the rope, the toy nestled in his body to open it up for someone who bought him.

Almost. He gets up, and walks toward the fence at the edge of the field. It’s tall, built tight, and Davis follows him to allow him close to it. He looks back at them, then at the fence. Surely they’ll prevent him from trying to climb it?

“Careful, big boy,” they shout.

He touches it with his nose anyway, and is hit by a wave of blistering, eye-watering pain. It’s electrified. Of course. What else could he have expected? He turns back toward Davis, trying to shake off the wave of despair that this information inspired in him, determined to enjoy what he’s been given. He sinks to the ground again, focusing on a grasshopper flitting through the grass, trying to lose himself in watching it for a while.

When he stands again, Davis is sitting on a rock in the center of the field, looking out, away from him, toward the barn. When Danby follows their gaze, he first catches sight of a huge house – a manor, almost – and then a figure walking toward the field, coming from it. Cecily. He turns and trots away, down the field, until the rope is taut again, away from her. He tries to ignore her when she lets herself in through the field’s gate, but when he hears her voice cutting through the air, suddenly the mitts seem more restrictive, and the discomfort of the toy in him is more present in his mind.

There’s a tug on his halter. “Come on, big boy,” calls Davis. Danby turns to stare at them. They jerk on the line again. “Come on in.”

If he resists, will they shock him? Beat him when they inevitably subdue him and drag him back into the barn? Starve him again? He sighs hopelessly, gazing back at the field again, and plods towards his captors.

“Good boy!” Davis calls to him as he approaches them. “If you’re good, we can come out in this field more often. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, big guy?”

Danby nickers low in his throat, caught between hope and annoyance.

Cecily steps close to stroke his neck when he stops in front of the pair of them. He stands and lets her.


	10. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily teaches Danby to follow her instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a rough little sketch of Danby that I did so you all can get a sense of how I picture him - it's at the end of this chapter. It's not necessarily relevant to this exact scene, just how he looks when he's been groomed and is on his lead rope -w-

The next morning, Davis leads him from the stable again after a thorough grooming. His coat gleams, and even the leather mitts, clipped behind his back today, have been oiled and brushed.

Danby steps eagerly into the sunlight. This time, though, they go around the field into a smaller paddock where the grass is mown short. Danby’s stomach flutters with nerves when he sees Cecily approach, dressage whip in hand, and let herself in through the gate. She joins them in the center of the paddock, and Danby fidgets agitatedly when she takes his lead from Davis. Why did she have the whip? He hadn’t done anything wrong – had he? He’d let her pet him. He’d been quiet when Davis groomed him. He hadn’t done anything to try to dislodge the toy that still nestles inside him – he’d even been able to forget about it in a few moments. _Why the whip?_

“Easy, boy,” says Davis, putting a hand on his shoulder. “More time in the field if you’re good, remember?”

Danby casts a wary glance at Cecily, but holds still.

“I think he’ll be good,” she says confidently. “He’s learned quickly so far, other than that one little incident. He’s smart enough that I think we’ll make good progress today.”

Davis nods, and steps back from Danby.

Cecily straightens up, and gives Danby some slack in the line. He steps away, but she only gives him a few paces before she holds the line taut again. He looks at her sidelong, heart beating fast, hating that this small, delicate-looking person has so thoroughly gotten control of him. He fears her. He has come to associate her praise with relief and reward, and here he is, out under the sun, standing quietly with his hands behind his back, no struggle. He hasn’t spoken in over a week. With a jolt he realizes that it hasn’t even occurred to him to try for the past few days. The realization washes him with another abrupt wave of despair.

And then it’s interrupted by a flat, insistent pressure on his ass and a little chirruping noise from the feline. He steps forward, away from the pressure. It remains, and he steps forward again, until he is walking around Cecily in a circle, the line in her hand a firm radius. 

The pressure on his ass – the end of the whip, uncomfortable but not painful – vanishes. He stops walking.

“Ah, no,” she corrects, touching the whip to his buttocks again with that little chirrup. He walks forward, and this time when she pulls the whip away, he keeps moving.

“_Good,” _she praises, and he hates the flood of relief that follows.

He walks around, an orbit with Cecily at the center. Then, up comes the whip, in front of him this time, pressing against his thighs with Cecily’s firm, “whoa.” He stops.

“Very good. Smart boy.” Her sharp voice is approving. He shakes his head as if to dislodge a fly.

When she taps his buttocks and chirrups again, he moves forward. After one circle, the whip presses into his shoulders as she corrects his posture, urging him to straighten his back, square his shoulders, lift his chin, until she praises him again. Next, the whip comes up under his calves, urging him to make exaggerated steps, knees high. He makes a circuit in this way, feeling ridiculous.

“Good. _Pretty_ boy,” she says. It’s almost a croon, that objectifying approval thick in her voice. He hates how soothing it is.

Then the whip presses against his buttocks again as he walks. He’s confused – already moving. Then she clicks her tongue, an impatient, disrespectful little sound. Another wave of loss hits him as he picks up speed, trotting in a circle around her with his knees held high. The toy in him rocks dramatically as he lifts his knees, and he nickers low in his throat. She keeps him trotting until he’s flushed and wet, breaking a sweat. Then –

“Whoa,” she commands, and he slows to a walk. “Whoa,” again, with the whip pressed lightly against his thighs. He comes to a halt.

“See? Very smart. That was perfect,” she says, approaching him. She feeds him a carrot and scratches at the corner of his jaw. He fights the impulse to close his eyes and enjoy the simple pleasure, fights the small glow of pride that warms him at her praise.

“Now, let’s make it a bit more challenging.” 

She gives him more slack in the line, and shakes it a bit. Danby takes this as encouragement to walk away until the line is taut again, about twenty feet away, well out of reach of the whip. Then she chirrups. And he walks, lifting his knees high. She clicks her tongue. He breaks into a trotting jog, then lengthens his strides when she clicks her tongue again until he’s practically floating around her in a quick prance,long legs carrying him smoothly over the ground. 

He’s startled by the realization that it feels _good – _he feels _beautiful _as he floats in a graceful circle and his mistress watches him with satisfaction. The rocking of the toy inside and against him as he moves becomes gradually more tantalizing– it’s invasive, but he struggles to find it in himself to hate it, when he’s moving like this.

She keeps him running, gazing at him, until his coat is damp with sweat and his thighs are slick. The muscles in his thighs begin to burn, but he continues on – he is afraid not to, yes, but some part of him that he is losing the energy to hate, craves that glow of praise, that pride, the reward of kindness.

Finally: “_Whoa,” _says his mistress, and he slows. “Whoa, whoa,” again, and he stops and stands, panting.

She approaches him again. “_So _good.” Her hand is smooth and cool on his hot, damp neck. “_So _smart and pretty. My good big boy. Kneel for me.”

He sinks to his knees in the short grass. She strokes his neck without having to reach up, pets his soft nose, hugging his whole head to her chest. He closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the affectionate touch, and blows air out through his nose in a shuddering sigh. He gives himself over to the gentle flow of her hands over his neck, cheeks, the tip of his nose.

“That’s it,” she croons. “My good boy.”


	11. Aphrodisiacs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danby is given warm food for the first time since he was bought. He wakes up feeling woozy and horny.

After Davis has brought him back into the barn and groomed him – gently and luxuriously, sponging him down with warm water, cleaning around the belt that holds the toy in place, and freeing his mane and tail from their tight braids – they round the corner into an area of the barn Danby hadn’t been permitted into yet. He stands in his stall, waiting for food and fresh water.

After a few minutes, just when he’s starting to grow impatient, a heavenly smell begins to permeate the air. Something warm, herby, savory-sweet. He almost groans aloud when Davis turns the corner back into his field of vision, carrying a new bucket. 

He approaches them as they let themself into his stall, nosing at the bucket. 

“Hey now,” they laugh. “Let me put this up for you. Yes, you’ll have it in a minute. It’s for you, for being good.”

He stands aside, tossing his head impatiently as they fasten the bucket in place. As soon as they move away, he pushes his nose into it, inhaling deeply. _Warm food. _When was the last time he’d had a warm meal? He closes his lips around warm, soft oats, tasting honey and apple and ginger and something savory and wonderful that he can’t quite place. Bliss.

He barely notices Davis leaving, and when the last of the delightful meal is gone, he licks the dregs of the honey out of the bottom of the bucket. Then, with drowsiness quickly overtaking him, he curls up in the clean sawdust.

He awakens groggily from odd dreams, feeling strangely hot. It’s still dark, and he’s not sure what woke him. There’s a tickle in his nasal passages as he breathes, almost like a cold, but _pleasant, _perhaps even enticing. He breathes in and out through his nose a few times, trying to place the sensation, and moves to sit up.

As he shifts to do so, he’s surprised by his own voice groaning aloud. _What? _He shakes his head, trying to think more clearly. He bends his legs to stand, and again, there’s a sensation – the _toy – _that makes him moan lewdly. As his thighs brush together, he feels that they’re slick and sticky. His cock is sensitive and swollen. He clenches around the toy and moans again. It’s _not enough. _

He stands, feeling shaky and strange – not quite like a heat, though to be fair he’d spent most of his heats drunk and jerking off on his couch, avoiding other people in case they tried – well. He stumbles to his water bucket and drinks deeply, then leans against the wall, trying to process what he’s feeling. Why is he so… horny?

His cock throbs, and for the first time in quite a while, he struggles against the way his hands are bound. Knowing it’s fruitless, he turns to the wall and rubs himself against it. It’s not what he needs – not even close – but the contact, however insufficient, at least provides some distracting sensation.

He stands and grinds against the wall while the sun rises, groaning quietly at the insufficient stimulus against his cock, the teasing contact of the toy against his insides.

His thoughts whirl, and he realizes, as his craving to get off only increases, that Davis is going to find him like this. And that they or Cecily will surely use this state of his. They must have drugged him with something – they must want him to be like this. Resentment at that bubbles in him, but gets quickly eclipsed by a wave of desire. He wants them to get here, wants them to _help _him, pictures his mistress’ – his captor’s – delicate hands over his cock. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the image. Davis, instead, then – big, kind hands, sliding into him, telling him _easy there, good boy, _in their even voice. He shakes.

Finally he hears the telltale footsteps of the groom approaching, opening the barn door. It’s a monumental challenge to stay in the far corner of the stall when the urgency of his body suggests he should be pressed up against the bars, catching sight of Davis and whickering insistently. He trembles from head to toe, forcing himself to hold still, facing the back wall.

“Oh, poor boy, look at you,” says Davis sympathetically as they enter his stall. Danby turns his head to look at them, knowing that the look he must be giving them is desperate, pleading. But, “No,” they say, “I can’t help you yet.”

He whickers in a way that comes out almost _whiny _as Danby leads him out of the stall, tethering him in the open area of the stable, before cleaning out the stall and replacing the water bucket. Then they come to him, and they – they unbuckle the harness that holds the toy in place. The toy slides out with a hot flood of slick, and Danby hears the canine gasp quietly over his own groan.

The absence of the toy hits Danby like a punch. He clenches around nothing and groans deeply. He _needs – _he _wants –_

He shoves his head into Davis’ shoulder, the generous fluff around their neck soft and dense. He whickers again, insistent, desperate.

“I know, big boy,” they say. “But I can’t. Just… hold tight.” They put him back in his stall, tethering him to the wall. He doesn’t resist. They pull a phone out of their pocket. “Mistress Cecily?” they say into it a moment later. “He’s ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away for a few days! If I can't set this up to post while I'm gone, I'll catch up next week.


	12. Praise; Against the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily takes advantage of Danby's aphrodisiac-induced willingness.

Cecily breezes into his stall a few minutes later, and some distant part of him recognizes the strength of whatever drugs they’ve given him when he doesn’t balk at the strap-on that she wears over snug breeches. His head feels hazy, woozy. Everything is hot and he can smell the sweet-musky scent of his own slick permeating the air. His hips rock back and forth against nothing. He turns to stare at his – his mistress, his captor, his owner, and she smiles wide. 

“You’ve been _so _good,” she croons, and it cracks through him like lightning. He can feel himself flush, can feel another rush of slick, another throb of _need, _of _hunger _like he’s never felt. Her hands are on his ass, and she makes that little chirrup, and he steps forward almost mindlessly until his chest is pressed against the wall of his stall and his hips tilt back, knees slightly bent to offer the best access to his mistress. “Good boy,” she says, and it lights him up again. “That’s it.”

Then she’s touching him, under his cock, on his – on his vulva, delicate fingers sliding over swollen lips, coming away sticky and damp. “_Good,” _again. He moans, his tail lifting, and then her silicone dick slides into him with sickening ease. He bucks his hips backward and he feels her bottom out; her hips snug against his ass. 

“_So _good for me,” she breathes, and begins pounding into him. He huffs and moans and strains back against her. It feels like almost no time passes before an orgasm comes crashing over him, throbbing and squealing. And then he begins to lose his grasp on what’s happening apart from the sensation of the dick sliding in and out against his sensitive lips, the wetness dripping from him around it, his mistress’s hands squeezing his hips, then tangled in his mane, then tugging on his cock. He hears her climax at some point, then again, but he is in such a haze of pleasure and want that he barely grasps why. 

When she withdraws her dick from his body, he groans in protest. She laughs breathily. “Don’t worry, good boy,” she reassures him. “Just turn around for me now – I want to see your pretty face.” 

He obeys, staring into her face. _She’s beautiful, _he thinks, woozy and shocked. Her pink nose and the insides of her ears are flushed, her eyes are clear, pupils large, delicate white whiskers forward in eagerness. One hand wraps around him and begins sliding up and down, and he whimpers. The other reaches up, stroking his nose, then grabs his halter tight under his chin. The hand around his cock pushes past it and _inside, _and she jerks his head down toward her. 

“_God _you’re a sight,” she purrs. “Look at you.”

His back is against the wall, hands in their mitts pressed behind him. His legs are spread for her and he stares at her like he’s trying desperately to understand what he’s seeing. She shifts forward, crowding him, and there is nowhere else. He’s bound and boxed in and somehow, hungry for it, hungry for her. Then he’s _opening _for her, and she’s fisting into him, small hand pumping in and out forcefully. She jerks on his halter and he stares into her eyes as another orgasm takes him.

“_Mine,” _she breathes raggedly as his muscles clench around her, her wrist coated with his slick. “You’re _mine.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to catch up this week! I'm traveling again next weekend so it might be a little tricky for me to get all the way up to speed, but I hope you enjoy what I'm able to post, regardless. <3


	13. Oral Sex; Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily works Danby hard. His will starts to slip further.

That first day dosed with aphrodisiacs leaves Danby exhausted, but not _done. _He drips and moans as Davis grooms him and puts him away. He falls asleep with his genitals throbbing, his body only succumbing to sleep because he’d been worked so hard.

By the second day his head is clearer, but his body still insistently nagging for attention, for the chance to get off, for the chance to get fucked. He shakes his head in irritation, horrified at how willingly he’d accepted Cecily and furious for wanting it _more, _wanting it _again._

The firm stride of her boots on the barn floor has him fidgeting at the door of his stall. It’s early – Davis hasn’t come in yet, and it’s a departure from the norm that his – that _Cecily _would arrive first. 

She leads him out to the paddock and runs him on the lunge line. He walks. He trots. He stops. He slicks down his legs. She teaches him to turn and cross the ring when she wants him to, and to come in towards her at her whistle. By the time she is done running him around the paddock, his thighs are sticky with slick and his back is damp with sweat. 

She has him slow to a walk to cool down. Finally, she whistles, and he walks in toward her.

“Whoa there.”

He stops.

“Kneel,” she commands. He drops.

“Lower,” she says, and he sinks, resting his ass down on his hocks.

She strokes his head and neck, scratching his jaw and high up by his ears. She pulls him in, encouraging him to rest his head against her thigh. She runs his forelock through her fingers soothingly for a minute or two. He listens to the chirp of insects in the grass and the rustling of leaves in the breeze; inhales the fresh air. Then she turns to face him.

She undoes the button of her breeches, sliding them down to her knees. The scent of her – warm and sweet and musky – hits his nostrils, riding over the comforting smell of grass and earth, and he can’t help but open his mouth to drink it in. She laughs. “All right, I suppose,” and tilts his chin up.

She’s wet against his lips and sweet on his tongue, and he licks against her slow and firm. She murmurs approvingly, gasping when he hits just the right spot. Part of him isn’t sure why he’s doing what he’s doing, and another part remembers the field and the warm food and the pleasant grooming when been good. And another new, bamboozled sort of part savors the taste of his mistress on his tongue and her delighted gasps above him, flaring in a warm glow when her breath hitches as she whispers, “oh, good _boy.” _

He moans quietly when her hips stutter and she bucks into his mouth, climaxing easily and gracefully. Maybe now she’d let him – she’d touch –

Her right boot slides over the grass between his knees, brushing his cock – _oh god _– under it, and she crowds her hips towards his face. He tries to tilt back, to accept, but – “Chin up,” she commands. And then she’s straddling his head, her vulva resting on his long nose. He blinks in confusion. Then she shifts her foot and he whimpers, slicking over her boot, grinding forward helplessly. She rocks forward, rubbing herself on his face.

“That’s right,” she purrs. “Hump my boot like the animal you are.” 

He can’t help it, though the words send a spike of shame through him. He’s too frustrated, too horny, too addled to resist.He grinds against the boot jammed into his groin like his life depends on it.

His mistress fucks against his face, his forelock fisted in her hand as she slides her clit over his soft nose and up toward his eyes. He groans quietly, bucking against the instep of the boot, the smooth vamp of it pressing maddeningly against his lips and vulva.

“That’s it.” She speeds up, leaving wetness smearing up and down his nose as she grinds on him. “What a good toy.” Pride and shame blossom in him at once. He humps her boot, letting her please herself on his face, no longer letting him take any action to please her as she holds his head still by his mane. She’s right. He’s a toy, and all he can do is let her use him in whatever way she wants.

His mistress comes in a gush, squirting against the bridge of his nose, soaking his face and dribbling into his nostrils and mouth. He whimpers. A moment later she takes her boot away, and when he tilts forward to chase it, she brings her toe up, stepping against his cock. He squeals, but doesn’t move away.

“Shh now,” she croons. “Toys don’t finish unless I want to watch them do it.”


	14. Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily has Danby clean up her boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally boots kink.  
I suppose I'm starting to split off pretty significantly from the prompt list I started out with! Oops.

“Now,” his mistress continues. “You’ve made a mess of my boot. Clean that up.”

He looks up at her with trepidation, fogged with lust. She pulls up her breeches and buttons them deftly. With his hands bound behind his back, she must mean that she wants him to…

“Well? Go on.”

The thought of touching his tongue to the smooth leather fills him with another flood of shame. Even though she’d just fucked against his face, which was still wet with her come. Even though she’d had him hump her boot and called him an animal. Even though the shame of being constantly tethered, unable to speak, and shitting in the sawdust in what is essentially a prison cell has stopped affecting him.

But she stares down at him with a look that says, _I expect you to obey, and my expectations will be met, _and he looks away. He dips his head, and licks her boot.

She is silent as his tongue travels over the black leather, cleaning away the smudges of his own slick. The taste of himself, dust, and polish mixes unpleasantly on the back of his tongue. Her silence stokes a mounting anxiety, and he swipes his tongue over every inch of the boot’s surface, then rubs his nose against it to polish off the streaks of saliva, working with increasing fervor. He doesn’t want to face her displeasure. He doesn’t want to be hit, or shocked. He wants her to call him _good boy _and feed him a piece of apple and to let him _come. _

“That’s enough,” she says. “Now, the other.”

He gives her other boot the same fervent attention, lapping away every speck of dirt, polishing the surface with the softness of his nose. He burns with humiliation and desire, desperate to satisfy her.

“Good,” she says crisply. Then she plants her heel close between his legs again, and presses the sole of the boot against his cock. He cries out. He looks up at her, bewildered and pleading, and she stares back, her expression assessing and slightly amused. She slowly tilts back and forth on her heel, pulsing the boot against him. He whimpers. It hurts – the boot is hard, and he can feel small clods of earth and grass pressing against this most sensitive part of him – but he _wants. _

She rocks the sole of her boot into his cock until he’s shuddering and groaning deep in his chest. He could come like this, he realizes, and it shocks him that the effect of the drugs they gave him is so strong, that they’re succeeding at making him into – this. 

She takes her boot away just as he starts to feel tension building deep in his core, and she _giggles._

“Now, what did I say? Toys don’t get to come unless I want them to.”

He looks up at her desperately. And then with a swift motion, she’s behind him, boot planted firmly in the middle of his back, forcing him down onto his face on the ground. He topples, landing heavily, nose in the short grass. The firmness and weight of her boot between his shoulders is all-encompassing, and he’s pinned there like a bug to a card. He squirms, and the boot presses down harder, until he is still and silent.

“There,” she says.

“Mistress Cecily?” Davis’ voice rings out from the edge of the paddock. “Is everything all right?”

Danby doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t make a sound. 

“Everything is wonderful,” confirms his mistress, warmly. “I’m simply giving my horse a nice reminder that he’s just a dumb animal. A big, beautiful toy, that I can do whatever I like with.”

“Of course.”

“You know, though, Davis, that I like to take good care of my toys, so that I can get as much joy of them as possible.”

“Indeed, mistress.”

The boot lifts from his back. Danby doesn’t move. He stays still and quiet, chin on the ground, until his mistress clicks her tongue. 

“Up!”


	15. Small Dick Humiliation; Face-sitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis and Cecily give Danby a new toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional content warning here for some slightly more explicit trans stuff, including comparisons between FTM and cis-male genitals, with which the POV character is uncomfortable. This might be dysphoria-triggering for some, so please take care!

Danby’s sleep is fitful that night, interrupted by his body’s persistent demand for an orgasm. He does his best to ignore it.

When Davis comes in to care for him the next day, they rearrange his hands, clipping them in front of his body instead of behind his back. They pull a harness around his legs and hips again, and he wants and dreads the feel of the toy pushing into him again. But it never comes. When he looks down, there is a large synthetic cock protruding out in front of him, over his real one, held snugly in place. 

It’s insulting. His real one is big enough to penetrate someone with. He’s done it. His partners used to like it, impressed, remarking that if cis horse men were known for being generously endowed, then of course it made sense he would be proportionally sizable, after years on hormones.

The fake one attached to him now is long, flared. A stallion’s dick. Enormous compared to his own. It presses against his real one uncomfortably. Not enough to be satisfying, too much to ignore. His body still craves, though, and even the unsatisfying contact has him slicking hungrily. Distantly, he wonders if this is still the lingering effect of the drugs they’d given him a few nights ago, or if they’re simply slipping them into his regular food now.

“There you go,” the canine says, patting him on the shoulder.

He snorts in irritation.

Davis laughs. “Don’t worry.”

They lead him outside, into the field. For the first time, they unclip his lead. He stares at the groom in confusion, and then walks away. The fake dick strapped to his body waggles ridiculously. He tries to ignore it.

The day is cloudy, with a warm, damp breeze, promising rain. He strolls around the field, examining the wildflowers growing among the grass, admiring the colors of late summer. Eventually he lies down on his back, staring up at the sky. He sighs, and tries to ignore the desire continually pressing at his mind.

The air is cut by a shrill whistle. He doesn’t even think; just scrambles to his feet. His mistress has walked into the field, and he trots toward her. Obedient. He doesn’t look down at the humiliating strap-on.

“Good boy.” She pets his nose sweetly when he stops in front of her. “You look very excited to see me.”

He doesn’t dare give her the derisive snort he’d given Davis. When she reaches to grab the fake cock and give it a tug, the base of it rolls against his real one roughly, and he gives a squealing nicker. 

“Yes, I thought so,” she says with satisfaction. “On your back, then.”

From his position lying on his back on the ground, he watches her peel off her boots and breeches. When he glances to Davis, he sees the stout canine also watching Cecily undress with appreciation and desire. Of course. But he observes this only for a moment before his mistress is dominating his field of vision, naked from the wast down.

She kneels gracefully over his face.

He opens his mouth to accept her.

Then her thighs are pressing on either side of his face and she’s thrusting her clit between his lips, riding his tongue. He sucks air in through his nostrils, again full of the scent of his mistress and the grass and he breeze, and he gives a muffled moan as he bucks his hips unconsciously in arousal.

She uses his mouth until he’s lightheaded and she’s dripping wet. Finally she gets up, tail lashing behind her in eagerness. Danby sees the smug smile she casts at Davis, and the flushed, hungry way they look at her in return. But then she’s standing over his hips, squeezing a small bottle of lube over the toy, and his heart thunders. He’s surprised at his own eagerness for what he knows is coming next.


	16. Power Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily uses the new toy.

His mistress’ eyebrows knit in a slight frown as she sinks down, using her hands to position the stallion cock against herself. Then she’s coming _down _and a soft, deep _“oh” _rises from her lips as the length of the toy disappears inside her. The sound deepens into a throaty, lustful moan.

Danby gasps as the weight of her jams the base of the strap-on against his real cock. He stares up at her. She bites her lip in a radiant, pleased little smile, and begins to rock up and down. Her whiskers tilt forward eagerly and her face shows only bliss. She plants her hands on his chest and fucks down onto him in a rolling rhythm.

It’s not long before he’s bucking his hips up towards her, into her, and her gasps turn into forceful, triumphant _“yes”_es. At some point he’s no longer sure if he’s doing it because his body _wants _and the grinding against his cock has become so _almost enough _that he’s forgotten he’s not actually fucking her with it, or if he’s simply that eager to please her now.

She raises herself up, and he can see the glistening length of the cock exposed, and he moans deep in his chest. When she drops back down forcefully, her buttocks slamming into his thighs, he bellows. The pace she takes from there is grueling, painful on his actual cock, and by the time she’s chasing her orgasm, he’s screaming and roaring with pain and frustrated desire.

She comes loudly, a ragged shriek wrenching itself from her throat and her claws digging into his chest hard enough to break skin. He shrieks in answer as she sinks them in and _pulls, _leaving hot, angry scratches down his chest. His hips buck and she _yowls_.

When she withdraws her claws, and he stops moving, she gives a breathless, satisfied smile. She stands, flowing to her feet, suddenly the picture of perfect composure again. If not for the state of undress and smirk on her lips, there would be no sign that she’d had a screaming orgasm moments before.


	17. Voyeurism; Dacryphilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily generously lets Davis play with Danby.

“Well, Davis, how about you?”

“M-mistress?”

“Would you like to go a round with our lovely toy, here?”

Danby watches the canine’s ears flush, sees the compelling stare that Cecily gives them.

“I– yes, thank you, mistress.”

“Good. Unclip those front hooves of his, then, trousers off, and get on your hands and knees.”

There is a long pause, and Danby’s not sure if Davis’ ears can get any redder. They stammer.

“Is there a problem?”

“N-no, Mistress Cecily.”

“Surely you’ve kept yourself prepared.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“But…?”

Davis looks down at their feet. “I don’t know if I can take it… that big.”

Cecily smiles. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

Danby watches Davis as the canine complies, shucking off their coveralls and settling on all fours in the grass. They tremble slightly. His mistress steps delicately toward them, letting them lean their head against her thigh. She strokes through the fluffy fur at their neck, and they sigh gratefully.

Then she whistles for Danby, and he knows where she wants him to be. 

He kneels behind the groom and glances at his mistress. With his hands trapped in the mitts, he can’t guide the toy into Davis’ body, and he’s not sure how to address that. She just meets his eyes, giving him a villainous smile, and nods.

He wishes he could speak for the first time in… how long? He would tell Davis _sorry _for the clumsy bumping of the toy against them, the awkward misses that cause the canine’s breath to catch and whimper. Instead he just noses gently against their shoulder, whickering. Then, somehow, they’re lined up right, and the flared end of the big silicone cock pushes jerkily into them.

Davis gives a high, soft whimper as Danby tips forward, leaning over their back, his mitted hands planted on either side of their head. A long, low moan escapes them as he begins to thrust.

Cecily crouches, reaching towards them. She grabs Davis’ chin. “Do you like it?” she asks sweetly.

Davis nods, whimpering again. “It hurts…”

“But not too much?” 

They shake their head.

“Good.”

Cecily retreats, sitting in the grass a few feet away, staring at them. Her face is hungry, cruel, showing her clear arousal. Quietly, she clicks her tongue, looking Danby in the eye. He knows what it means. _Faster. _

Perhaps it’s the position, but the rolling of the trap-on against his cock feels better this way – good, even – and it motivates Danby to thrust hard into the groom. After a short time, they begin pushing back against him, panting and whining and moaning and writhing. Cecily clicks her tongue again, and Danby picks up speed and force until his hips are colliding furiously with their fluffy behind. Eventually Davis is groaning deeply and sinking forward, their shoulders on the ground, and Danby’s fucking them hard into the ground. His teeth click together and he blows through his nose, a hollow, labored sound.

The sounds of the canine beneath him subside into sobs.

Danby looks up at his mistress, alarmed, but her face shows intense satisfaction and need. She stares at Davis, meeting their eyes.

“_Is it good?” _she hisses.

“It’s g-good,” sobs the groom. They give a wrenching moan. “It’s – _so good –”_

“And what do you say?” Cecily asks, her voice low.

“_Th – hnh – thank _you, mistress. _Thank – _oh _god – please!”_

“Not yet, sweetheart,” she answers airily. Davis responds with a dismayed, desperate moan. Danby empathizes – he’s getting close, the pulsing against his cock with each thrust becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

“You may come, though, if you can,” she says, nodding to Danby, and he gives a few more fervent thrusts before he _does, _bellowing and seizing up, _finally, _his cock throbbing against the base of the toy as his hips pulse against Davis’ body, and it almost feels like it’s _real. _

“But keep going,” Cecily commands, clicking her tongue. And so he pushes through it, impaling Davis on the toy as they writhe and weep and beg beneath him.

“Mistress, _please – please!”_

“Go ahead, then,” she grants, magnanimous.

And they do, with a howling wail and a full-body shudder.

“Whoa there,” Cecily adds, and Danby stops. “Up,” she commands, and he pulls away from Davis, the disengagement pulling another wrecked moan from them.

“Now, sweetheart, come here,” she says to Davis, and pats her thigh. They crawl over to her, still teary, and collapse into her lap. She strokes their face, looking down at them lovingly.

Danby stares from a few yards away. The breeze dances along his sweaty coat. He’s less bound than he’s been since he arrived here, and yet he’s frozen to the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow we're finally caught up! Not for long, as I'll be traveling again during the weekend.
> 
> Also! I'm being deliberately vague about what Davis' genitals look like - you get to decide for yourself what you think they've got going on.


	18. Branding; Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecily has Danby marked to show that he belongs to her.

When Cecily and Davis turn to leave the field, Danby follows at his mistress’ whistle. He’s halfway to the barn before he realizes he’s not on a lead. 

It doesn’t change anything.

Davis grooms him thoroughly, sponging him clean, and he stands quiet and calm. They take off the strap-on and lead him back to his stall. His mistress treats him to a molasses cookie before they both leave.

“Tomorrow, I think,” Danby hears her say to the groom as they walk out of the barn. “He’s ready.”

So the next morning, he’s back on the barn floor, clipped into his cross-ties. His tail is braided neatly, his hands linked behind his back. He’s surprised and a little insulted that they hobbled his legs again. He hasn’t fought them for some time now. He’s _good._

His mistress strokes his neck and shoulders while Davis does something loud outside.

“You’ve been _so _good,” she praises. “You’ve learned so much since you got here. I want you to stay here with us, and we’re going to do something today to show you belong here, to me.”

The smell of hot metal precedes Davis when they return to the barn. They hold a long rod of iron, the end of it – curved into an ornate _C – _glowing hot. A sudden wave of anxiety rolls through Danby.

“It might hurt a little, but I trust that you’re going to be very good for me,” says Cecily. Her voice is even and low, and her hands – one on his neck, the other holding his halter – are steadying. “It’ll only take a moment.”

Danby shudders when he feels the glow of heat just behind him, and then there is hot, searing, insistent pain as the brand is pressed into the flesh of his right buttock. He smells burning hair and meat. He squeals, but he holds still, not struggling against his mistress, who hugs his head. He’s good for her, he’s good, _he’s good –_

And then the pressure is gone, leaving a sizzling pain behind. Immediately, Davis presses a cold cloth to the burn.

“_Very _good,” praises his mistress. “I knew you could do it.” She pets his nose and offers him a sugar cube. He takes it, accepting the consolation of the treat.

“Now, to name you. Since we’re committed to keeping you, we need something to call you. What do you think, Davis?”

“I like the idea you told me about last night, Mistress,” answers the canine, still holding the cold cloth to Danby’s buttock.

“Yes, I rather do, too. Well, that settles it. We’ll call you Silver.”

Danby raises his head in surprise, staring at his mistress. She’d just branded him as one of her possessions. She’d taken his words, his hands, his freedom, and his dignity. And now she was taking away his name. 

“See, Davis, he already likes it.” She grins up at Danby, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Don’t you, Silver?”


	19. Forniphilia (human furniture)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danby is brought up to his Mistress' house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guess what! This project isn't totally abandoned. I just wasn't really in a place to touch it for a little while.  
I'll update sporadically from here on out but I do intend to finish out all 30 chapters eventually.

“I think he’s docile enough to bring in the house, yes.” 

“Very good, Mistress. I’ll bring him up after lunch.”

The gravel of the long drive crunches under Danby’s hooves as Davis leads him up to the large house. Is this what they refer to as a manor? But he supposes it doesn’t matter.

They enter through a side door, not as ornate as the main entry he glimpsed on his way up, but still pretty – a warm yellow framed by tendrils of ivy. Inside, the floor is tiled and the ceilings are high. Davis leads him through a series of rooms until his sense of direction is befuddled, into what appears to be an old-fashioned sitting room, full of sumptuously-upholstered furniture and bookshelves.

It feels odd, to be inside a house again, his hooves resting on a plush rug, looking around at the trappings meant to make people comfortable. Exceptionally, luxuriously comfortable, in this case. Still, he stands up straight and steady, staring forward. He is aware of the effort Davis has gone to to make him presentable for this unusual visit. His coat gleams; his mane and tail are twisted into ornate braids; he’s been outfitted with a freshly-cleaned leather harness and bridle that glows with a warm, waxy sheen.

He doesn’t turn his head to look when he hears his mistress enter the room. She greets Davis warmly, and then dismisses them.

“Return with tea in an hour, please,” she commands, and then Danby is alone in the room with her.

She doesn’t approach him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her take a seat in a velvety armchair, a thick book in her hand. She whistles quietly for him, and he moves to stand in front of her. She gestures for him to face sideways, in profile to her.

“Down,” she commands. “All fours.”

He obeys, on his hands and knees in front of her. And then he feels her heels come to rest on his back as she rests her feet on him.

“_Ah,” _she sighs, contentedly. 

She turns the pages of her book. And he stays still. 

At some point his shoulders begin to ache. The branded flesh on his ass, too, reminds him of the burn he has suffered.

He doesn’t move.

At length, Davis returns, bearing a tray. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” his mistress says. “Now, while this cools, I have a job for you.”

She kicks him lightly as Davis helps her out of her breeches. The canine’s behind bumps into him as they settle on the floor in front of the chair, and his mistress’ heels thunk back into his spine. 

He holds still through it all, listening to the lewd sound of Davis’ nose and tongue being used for his mistress’ pleasure, her responding gasps. It’s as if he isn’t there. Eventually, Davis’ “job” turns into a more involved engagement, and he is no longer a footrest, but a clothes-horse, his mistress’ garments and Davis’ strewn over his back as the two moan and thrash in the chair, then on the sofa, then disappear from the room altogether – both the tea and Danby forgotten.

His shoulders are aching agonizingly before Davis comes back into the sitting room. They pick the clothes off him, folding them neatly, and leave. He feels a pang of desperation, but they come back in few minutes. They stroke his neck, and take the reins of his bridle.

“Come on, up.”

He stands, shaking himself.

“You’ve been so good,” Davis murmurs. “Good boy.”


	20. 20. Drugged, Somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danby sleeps in his mistress' house. She is kind to him.

Day 20: Drugged, Somnophilia

His mistress stalks back into the room, smelling of satisfaction. “Don’t lead him out, Davis.”  
“Oh?”  
“No, I’d like him to stay in the house for the night.”  
“Where would you like me to put him?”  
“The storage off the kitchen should do. I’d like you to give him dinner first.”

Freed of his bridle before the meal, Danby drinks gratefully from a large bowl in the kitchen. Dinner is another hot mash of oats and shredded apple, spiced and honeyed – a true treat. Davis leads him outside to relieve himself, and then brings him back into the promised storage room. The floor is tiled, and the room is almost completely empty but for some sacks of flour and potatoes. The pattern of the tiles swims and twists, and he looks up at Davis helplessly, wondering what the food was spiked with this time.

“Be good, okay?” Davis says, but Danby is already struggling to focus on them. The thud of the heavy door closing reverberates in his head. He shakes his head to clear his mind, but it only makes him dizzy.  
At the same time, he’s painfully aware of his cock, his genitals feeling hot and heavy. His mind is wrapped in wool, and he feels woozy and stupid. For a while he simply stands, watching the tiles warp and spin on the floor.

The next time he is aware of anything, it’s of the sense that he’s lying down on something lumpy, and that the heavy door of the storage room has been shut. The heavy thud of it being pushed back into place echoes in the fuzzy emptiness of his head. He tries to open one eye but the room is spinning so violently, and his eyelids feel so heavy, that he lets it fall closed again immediately.  
He tries to turn his head, or gather his feet under him, but nothing happens apart from a few tar-slow twitches. He can feel the throbbing of blood in his cock, but seems unable to shift himself to deal with that, either.  
Conscious movement is beyond him.

“My good sleepy boy,” comes the warm whisper of his mistress, and her silky touch on his rump.  
He’s not sure if he wants to respond by moving away, uncomfortable with being touched while his head feels so foggy and stupid, or if he wants to moan and rock into her touch. He can do neither.  
Her hand slides between his thighs, caressing and quiet and surprisingly gentle. Her fingers wrap around his cock, firmly yet gently, and even when the inclination to move his legs apart comes to him, he can’t. She works over him in a way that would be breathtakingly lovely, except his chest rises and falls evenly.  
When she works over his opening, he finds he’s capable of a plaintive murmur of need.  
“Shh,” she croons. “Back to sleep, lovely boy.” Fingers slip into him.  
He whines again, and again, her soothing, “Shhh, Silver, sleep now.”

He floats as she fucks him with her hands, slowly exploring and caressing. She strokes his body with her free hand, her touch kinder than he’s ever known it. She kisses the inside of his thigh sweetly as her fingers swirl inside him, and he can’t even tip his hips up to meet her. If he could move, would he bloom at how she loves him this way? Would he whicker softly in return, accept her with stillness, lift his tail eagerly for her?  
There is a tickle on his cheek, and she brushes the tears away with tender fingers. “Shh,” she soothes again. And then there is a prickle of whiskers against his thigh and soft wetness on his genitals – _her mouth_, he realizes – her rough tongue, the light pull of suction, and his eyes are too heavy to open. His body climaxes far away.  
_I must be dreaming,_ it occurs to him, as another heartbreakingly soft touch lands on his forehead, stroking his forelock aside. Then there is nothing but air beside him, a few booted footfalls, the heavy thud of a door._ I must have dreamed it_. And then there is nothing at all.


End file.
